


Alpha Sigma Psi

by orphan_account



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Fraternities & Sororities, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[College!AU] Alpha Sigma Psi is easily Empire State University's most recognizable fraternity chapters -- led by the idealistic, political Tony Stark and his second-in-commands Steve Rogers and Donald Blake, the frat house is a tawdry den of sex, sleaze, booze, and politics. Everybody's got their hands in the cookie jar, and nobody is off limits. How can a relationship survive when it has to navigate through an environment specially designed to stimulate the body in a school meant to stimulate the mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> [ More character tags will be added as they are introduced to the story. This chapter is meant to serve as an introductory to the 'focal characters' of Tony and Steve, which is also the central relationship underlying the story and advancing a plot. In a lot of ways this could be seen as just PWP, and is more than welcome to be enjoyed as such, but hopefully readers will stick around for the character dynamics and the relationships to be built and explored as the plot progresses and things become more dramatic and story-driven. But, for now, enjoy a couple chapters of pure, smutty goodness: PLEDGE WEEK: DAYS ONE THROUGH SEVEN will be released intermittently over the next little while, each one focused on a different pledge pairing off with an existing frat brother to haze them into the fold. First up? Hawkeye teaches the Human Torch and Spider-Man a lesson in keeping their hands to themselves. ]

Empire State University. Home of the mighty Avengers.

Tony Stark’s first steps on campus after another summer at home were always the most exciting ones of the school year. The crisp, clean end-of-summer air filling his lungs, the gaggle of frosh ready to experience the education system at its finest, and the professors genuinely excited to be teaching their lessons. It was all a sham before the damp fall weather set it, the freshmen wore themselves out and became corrupted by their fellow students, and the professors gave up trying to impart knowledge and started going through the motions.

But this? This was nice. 

He was big man on campus, there was no point in denying it. His face was plastered all over the school: on posters, on the closed-circuit televisions, at the biggest, and thereby best, parties of the year. Tony Stark had made a name for himself early into his freshman year and, now, entering his fourth and final one, he was prepared to fully take hold of his kingdom. 

Alpha Sigma Psi had been the centre of his stronghold since joining the fraternity just after enrolling. Now he was the senior brother, president of the local chapter, and underneath him were almost twenty full-fledged members and a list of interested rushes nearly one hundred. The whole process had to be expedited in order to accommodate the potentials. Five parties had been planned during orientation week, one each night, hoping to weed out the haves from the have nots.

Part of the appeal of running the most popular student organization in school meant that he had plenty of options, and plenty of options meant plenty of fun. The kegs had been ordered and shipped, sitting in the chilled root cellar in the basement of the frat house — Avengers Manor, as it was colloquially called, an expansive mansion at the top of a hill overlooking the campus. It had been a gift from the Stark family, at Tony’s behest, just another way he sought to overtake the Greek organization. ‘Lavish with gifts’ was, for all intents and purposes, his main way of getting what he wanted. He was smart, he was athletic, and he was handsome, but he liked to have assurance that his power was absolute. He’d made powerful friends, even more powerful enemies, but it all was going in his favour for now. 

It was still the first week of school, after all. Everything coming up roses until reality sank back in, and he was happiest that way. 

He’d been heading to the student centre to finish enrolling in his classes, saying hi to some of the familiar faces he passed along the way, but the conclusion of his trip was what he was most looking forward to: going home. Sure, they were allowed, technically, to stay in the manor over the summer, but Howard Stark insisted on bringing the family back together for a couple of months. This year, they vacationed in Majorca, and Tony returned bronze-skinned, scruffy-haired, and muscularly toned from months of swimming in the Mediterranean. He looked like a roman god, and he was fully aware of that fact, relishing in the sidelong glances he received trekking through the corridors. 

But there was only one reception, one reunion, he was looking forward to. 

“Honey, I’m _home_ ,” he called out, shutting the front door of the manor, setting his bag down on the floor. His voice echoed through the foyer, nobody immediately answering his call, which made sense. Most of his brothers wouldn’t be around until the weekend, giving him a few days on his own to reunite with what had quickly become his home away from home — and, in many ways, his first home. He’d made a family out of his fellows, tradition out of their rituals, and even thinking about that made a pit appear in the base of his stomach. This was his last guaranteed year at Empire State. Sure, he planned on applying for a masters program this year, and the amount of donations the Stark family provided to the school more or less secured his place, but anything could happen between now and then.

For now, he had to live in the moment. 

“Tony? That you?” 

Finally somebody answered him, calling from the distance, through hallways and doorways. “Stevey boy!” he shot back, grin on his face. “Anybody else here yet, or is she all ours?”

“Cage was here, but he was just dropping some things off before move-in day.” The voice was coming closer, and Tony figured it was stemming from the kitchen. Leaving his bags where he’d dropped them, moving in that direction, sliding through one of the side doors into the primary hallway. 

He ran into Steve Rogers before reaching the kitchen — he was looking as good as ever. Bigger than he remembered, his v-neck hugging tightly against his muscles, showing off his frame. The two men came together in a stiff, awkward, one-handed hug, but it didn’t last very long. Tony turned his head to the right, mouth pressing against Steve’s neck. The other man tilted back slightly, exposing more of his throat, giving Tony better access to it. 

His lips brushed against Steve’s adam’s apple, nipping down on it with his front teeth. He felt the gurgling moan before he heard it, closely followed by two arms wrapping around him again. “I missed you, man,” Tony murmured, bowing his head, letting himself be hugged. 

“You have a good stay in Spain?”

“Would have been better with company,” he replied, the hug ending, allowing him to step back. They locked eyes, soft smiles on their faces. Tony’s hands were flush against Steve’s chest, a breath caught in his throat. “What about you—do anything exciting? Feels like forever since I last talked to you.”

“May 6th,” Steve pointed out. “I’ve been meaning to text you, but, yeah.” He laughed sheepishly. “I didn’t want to bug you.”

“Really?” Tony said with a chuckle. “You’re my rock. You’re half the reason I’m still at this school. The other half being the old man insisting.” He smirked. “I hate not talking to you.” His voice went cutesy and deep, leaning in again, hand forming a small fist to gently punch Steve on the shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to text me, alright?”

Steve smirked. “You’re gonna be busy this year, running this show. Sure you’ll be able to make time for me?”

Tony leaned in, his swagger clear. His hands pressed against Steve’s waist, squeezing tightly. “I’ve _always_ got time for you, man.”

“What about right now?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” He had to get on his tip-toes, but Tony leaned in to kiss Steve, tongue slipping in without hesitation. It had been three or four months since he’d last tasted this, the sweet flavour of his tongue. His hands grappled on Steve’s waist, coming around his back. Behind him, he felt Steve’s arms around him, and Tony hopped up, letting himself be carried by the taller, bigger man. 

They turned around, but Tony’s eyes were closed. The kiss broke apart, but he applied his focus to Steve’s neck once again, sucking and nipping on his collarbone. The muscled arms held him close as they pushed through one of the doors into a side room, one of the many bedrooms the place had. Tony knew it wasn’t his, and it wasn’t Steve’s, but nobody else was home, so it didn’t matter to him where they did it.

Next moment he was tossed down onto the bed, springing up and down. He scrambled back as Steve climbed over top of him, and the kiss resumed, making up for lost time over the course of the summer. Tony was pinned down against the bed, unable to move, not that he wanted to. He’d always had control issues, asserting his dominance in every facet of his life — the only time he felt safe in submission was when he was with Steve. He always felt safe with Steve, even if he’d never admit it openly.

Nobody was supposed to know about them, but it wasn’t exactly a secret. Everybody knew about the hook-ups, that wasn’t anything new — _everybody_ hooked up in the Alpha Sigma Psi house, but Tony had billed himself as aloof and uncaring. He was dependent on nobody, had no crutch to bare, and he didn’t want anybody knowing just how much Steve meant to him.

That included Steve himself.

Hands caught on the collar of his shirt, and the buttons started being undone. Tony shrugged, moaning into the kiss, head bobbed up off the pillow beneath him. Steve forcibly pushed him back down, some aggression in his movements, breaking their lips apart. “How many spanish guys got to do this to you?” he asked — not a hint of jealousy or animosity in his voice.

“Uh,” Tony struggled, “like six or seven.” He laughed, trying to pass off the lie. He wanted to say ‘nobody, I was waiting for you’, but that seemed weak. 

“Nice,” Steve grinned, sitting up straight and undoing the last button of the dress-down shirt, pulling both halves aside. Both of his hands moved, covering Tony’s nipples, squeezing harshly. He let out a moan, digging his head down into the pillow. “You look like an Adonis.”

Smiling, Tony spread his arms slightly. “Still not half as god-like as you.”

Steve’s lips pressed against his chest, not holding back as he bit down on the sensitive flesh. “Speaking of gods, when was the last time you talked to Don?”

“Couple days ago. Said his brother got into the school.” His hips bucked up, jeans pressing against jeans, feeling himself hardening beneath the clothing. “He was thinking of rushing for us. Think he’ll get in?”

“If he’s half as good looking and a quarter good at drinking, he’s a lock.” 

“I’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Tony admitted, breathing heavily. “Take my pants off. Can’t wait any longer.”

“So impatient,” Steve tutted, but he obliged. Pulling himself off, he knelt between Tony’s parted legs, undoing the button of his jeans, shrugging them off in a couple of rough tosses. “You waited half a year, can’t you wait twenty more minutes?”

Granted the ability to sit up, Tony did so, slipping off his shirt and throwing it onto the floor next to them. Steve lifted him slightly, slipping off the briefs he was wearing, placing them aside without much regard for where it landed. Tony felt naked and exposed, but comforted in his friend’s presence. 

As Steve removed his own shirt, he held in a breath, examining every last inch of the exposed skin. He knew it like the back of his hand by now, two and a half years of an on-and-off sexual relationship. There were times that Tony thought he was more invested in the pairing than Steve was: if Tony was big man on campus, then Steve was the homecoming king. In many respects, their worlds overlapped, two domineering personalities that should have competed, rather than connected, but that wasn’t Steve’s style. Sure, he was as much of a jock as the next guy, his quarterbacking skills second to none, but he was more laid back and reserved than most people seemed to think. His public image was that of an all-american cowboy. Captain America, they called him. Clean-cut, handsome, polite, everything a person could dream of being. He went out, had fun with his friends, got loud and had too much to drink, but he was a good guy. A really good guy.

He had no business being best friends with somebody like Tony Stark — political savvy, businessman, ruthless, the kind of guy who would be richer than his billionaire father in a couple years time. 

But somehow they’d connected, back when they both became pledges together. They grew up together, allowed one another to experience the full gamut of the campus experience, and somewhere along the line they’d started fooling around. Neither of them really spoke about it beyond that, Tony didn’t know if Steve felt the same as he did, he never asked. He’d never ask. It was just a moment of fleeting weakness. Once the new pledges came in and the hazing started, he’d forget all about it.

For right now, however, he just wanted to feel Steve’s warm arms around him. 

Tony got his wish sooner than he expected, as he was pushed back down against the bed. Steve still straightened up, undoing his own jeans. He slipped them off, kicking them over the edge of the bed. There they were, naked together, just like old times. Tony was formed and shaped like a swimmer, but Steve clearly was a football star. In most worlds, Steve would have been head of the fraternity. He came from a family of money, he had the sports aptitude, the general popularity, but this wasn’t most worlds. He had to contend with being number two, a fact he took in stride. 

Steve took his dominance in the bedroom.

“Had a dry spell this summer,” he admitted as he leaned down, breathing heavily against Tony’s neck. “Hope you don’t mind. I’m about to ride you like an animal.” 

Wrinkling his nose, Tony turned his lips up for a kiss, and for a moment they connected in a instance of passion. Just then, Tony realized that maybe he wasn’t alone in his feelings. “I love you,” he murmured before he could stop himself. His eyes flicked up, connecting with Steve’s, who had widened his own in surprise. They had frozen, both for the same reasons — neither could believe that Tony had said that. “I—I—” he stammered, trying to correct himself, but no words came out.

Steve stopped him with a kiss. Heavy, wet, passionate. Butterflies flew through his stomach. “Tony…” he whispered as they broke apart again, there was a heaviness in his voice.

“No, don’t say it,” he answered back, voice harsh. “I know you don’t—I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Smiling, he leaned in for another light kiss. “This doesn’t change anything between us, you know that, right?”

That was a lie. Tony knew it was a lie — everything would change. 

“I love you, too.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Do you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“I mean it.”

The next kiss they shared felt like any other they’d had in the past. It was full of questions finally asked, feelings finally resolved — a summation of every interaction they’d ever had, a be-all-and-end-all answer to the lingering will they/won’t they question. They will. They would. “What do we do about it?” Tony asked, a little bit more eagerly than he would have liked to have sounded.

“Nothing?” Steve replied, furrowing his brow slightly, though these was a tenderness evident in his voice. “Don’t you like what we have—a house full of hot young pledges to mess around with, frat brothers who’d bend over backwards to please us, and then… each other. You called me your rock. Let me be your rock.” His voice lowered into a hissing whisper. “And let me rock your world.”

A smile twitched on Tony’s face, though he couldn’t decide, truly, how he felt about the whole thing. He wanted this, what they had right then and there, even with the added words ‘I love you’ hanging in the air — but what was wrong with wanting more? “Do you want to go for coffee?” he asked the man on top of him, quirking one of his eyebrows.

“Maybe when we’re done,” he teased, and in one quick movement, both of his hands were at Tony’s waist, urging him to roll over. It didn’t take much convincing for him to flip, laying flat on his stomach and pulling the pillow beneath his chest, hugging it tight. He felt Steve’s weight pushing against him, the hard silhouette of his dick pressing into his butt cheek. It rose up abruptly, and the weight shifted on the bed. From behind, Tony heard the sound of a tearing condom wrapper, and a few seconds of stillness passed as he waited for it to be rolled on. “I missed this, Tony. Missed you.”

“Just fuck me,” he shot back, unable to hold himself in anymore. It had been four months. He’d been saving himself for this, waiting eagerly day after day, passing up opportunities given to him left and right. His ass hurt from waiting. He’d rather it hurt from fucking.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait much longer. Laying there, flat on the bed, he felt Steve’s hands feeling around the supple skin between his legs, running his hand between both cheeks, through the crack, one finger slipping into the tight, pink, slightly hairy hole awaiting his entry. 

Tony grunted, body smoothing out as everything went rigid for a moment, and he had to force himself to relax, revelling in the probing filling him up. One finger went in, then another, and a third, each one struggling against the repaired skin, retightened from a dry summer. “Fuck, Tony,” Steve hummed as he drilled his fingers to the knuckle, pressing and stretching him out. “Are you sure you got fucked? This is tighter than I’ve ever seen you.”

He buried his head in the blankets, not saying anything. He’d rather not get caught in his lie — it had been stupid, petty, and pointless to begin with. Steve had said he’d saved himself all summer for this, and he could have said the same if he hadn’t been so stupid. Not that he could say much of anything, at least not right then, forcing himself to bite down on the pillow as the three fingers vacated his hole and he prepared himself for what was coming next.

He relaxed the tightening muscles of his hole, his breathing regulated by counting the seconds off in his head, but all of that went to shit when he felt the tip of Steve’s cock pressing against the swelling red ring. He pushed himself further in, and Tony pulled back his hips, making for slightly easier entry, but as he went deeper in, Steve was forced to lay himself flat over Tony, his powerful thighs clung against his waist, holding them together.

His head wound up just above Tony’s neck, and he could feel the hot, heavy breaths falling down upon it, but as nice as that felt, it was nothing compared to the feeling of the first pump into his hole. Steve was experienced with this, he knew what Tony liked, where things were. On the first go, he just narrowly missed his g-spot, but corrected himself by nailing the prostate on his second attempt. Tony groaned into the bed, making himself as available as possible to his top.

Steve’s lips pressed against his shoulder, biting down onto his neck, strong enough to just narrowly break the skin, but not quite enough to draw blood. The process continued ad nauseum, the only part of Steve’s body moving was his legs, hips, and stomach, just barely lifting away from the point of contact against Tony’s skin. Sweat began to pool between them, the warmth of their bodies mingling together. 

“Fuck yeah,” Steve hummed, the sound of his balls slapping against Tony’s ass the only other sound in the room. The fucking became so powerful that the bed started to creak beneath them, the springs of their mattress old and rusted — if anybody else had been home, they would have had no privacy. Part of Tony pitied whoever got stuck with this bed that year, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. “Tighten up for me.”

Tony did as he was told, squeezing the ring of muscles encasing Steve’s cock, but the thrusting continued despite the attempt to block him out. He could feel the skin tearing, screaming in pain as even with the condom and the lubricant, Steve managed to tear up his hole. It would hurt in the morning, it always hurt in the morning, but it was the kind he was willing to put up with if it meant more nights like this.

The rhythmic thrusting had started pushing his own dick against the mattress, not enough to stimulate it, but enough to make him notice it, bent at an odd angle, unable to rectify itself, trapped under his weight and the added weight of Steve Rogers. It stung and chaffed, the only moisture coming from a few droplets of precum that the blankets absorbed before they could glisten down the shaft, but despite all that, he knew he was close. The stimulation of his prostate drove him wild, teeth clenched down on the pillow beneath him to actively stop himself from making a scene.

Steve seemed to have no such problem, his moans load and vocal. He knew he was alone and he relished in the faux-exhibitionism. He was usually so quiet and studious — a jock, still, but a polite one. Mild-mannered. But alone in the bedroom, especially with Tony, he became a whole different beast. Captain America earning his stripes.

He let out a holler, and Tony realized he’d climaxed. The thrusting had become more erratic, each pump coming more slowly, until finally they stopped, and Steve simply lay on top of him, panting heavily. He was coated in sweat, both of them were, the Avengers Manor heating bill would run them a fortune this year if this was any indication of how it would be maintained. 

“My turn,” Tony moaned, lifting his head slowly. He fully expected Steve to pull himself out, maybe gently roll him over and finish the job for him, but no — he didn’t bother with step one. Instead, he gripped his arms at Tony’s sides and rolled them both over, essentially flipping their positions. Both were on their backs, but Tony’s was propped up on Steve’s stomach and chest. An odd angle, for sure, one that caused the lube-covered cock to slip out of his hole, but Tony made no effort to move.

The hands at his waist moved after a moment, taking hold of his shaft and slowly starting to stroke it. Steve was going blind, but after two years of fooling around, he knew how Tony liked to have himself be handled. He was gentle yet firm, not too fast, not too slow — just right. It didn’t take long for a steady stream of sticky white liquid to come flying out of his swollen head, squirting up Tony’s body and beyond. Some of it landed in his hair, some just barely on Steve’s forehead beneath, and some even further still onto the bed and pillow past them.

He panted, unable to believe how much he’d just spent. Steve’s hand remained cupped around his cock, but the other rested atop his stomach, mingling with the cum and the sweat and the hairs on his body, not bothering to move. “It’s gonna be a good year,” he said after a moment, voice still breathy and airy.

“If this is any indication of what’s to come,” Tony said, tilting his head back. The crown of his head brushed against the bed next to Tony’s, neck bent at an awkward angle to accommodate it. Steve turned his head to kiss his temple shortly. “I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be the best year yet.”

“We should look over the list of interested rushes. Check their facebooks. See if anybody’s worth calling for a… special interview.”

Tony laughed throatily — he was wrong, Steve was right. Nothing would change. They’d still be themselves. The head honchos of the biggest fraternity on campus, organizers of the biggest sex house in the state, a laundry list of people looking to get into their good graces and willing to do anything in order to make it to the big times, and, sure, maybe nothing would come of tonight, maybe they’d both ignore anything had been said. They were young. They were having fun. Tony knew Steve had no intentions of settling down, and even for himself monogamy was a far off dream. But at least he knew he wasn’t alone. 

It’s funny how often the most popular ones are the ones most in need of somebody to hold them, and the irony wasn’t lost on Tony Stark. A houseful of people who had no choice but to strip down naked when he asked, but the only person he wanted to be with was already with him. 

Beneath him, Steve’s breathing levelled out, and for a brief moment Tony thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. And if he had, Tony really wouldn’t have minded. 


	2. Pledge Week: Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Thus begins the first of seven installments of the PLEDGE WEEK story-arc. Each addition will feature one of the six pledges in their quest to become a brother of Alpha Sigma Psi. Obviously, this one is Clint Barton hazing Johnny Storm and Peter Parker, and I hope you enjoy! The next pair-up is going to be Harry Cleese, aka Brother Hercules, fooling around with Amadeus Cho, in the ultimate battle of brawns versus brains! ]

Summer turned to fall without so much as a warning. The days grew colder, the nights slightly longer, and once the homecoming parade ended and the football season started, it meant that the final choices needed to be made soon. Alpha Sigma Psi was one of the earliest fraternities on campus to cull their rushes into pledges: it had always been tradition to name their new brothers before Thanksgiving Weekend, but it meant a rigorous schedule needed to be maintained. All rushes were held during the very first week of school, coinciding with the orientation of the freshmen students. It allowed the brothers to assess how they demonstrated in new environments, and more importantly, under pressure.

They had a reputation to maintain, and a notion of tight-lipped secrecy as to the goings-on in the manor. Their cuts were brutal and many. One hundred people had expressed interest in joining the already twenty brothers in the chapter. Only fifteen made the cut. Even then, it was tough to say who would last the month and a half separating then and now. More parties were held, as befit the largest, loudest greek organization at Empire State, and the pledge process began. It was slower than that of the rush. Now that the field had been narrowed, more time could be dedicated to finding the perfect new additions to the group. 

All of this coincided with pledge week. An arbitrary occurrence at an arbitrary date. Existing brothers knew the protocols behind calling pledge week officially underway, but that was kept exceptionally restricted from the pledges. They could, arguably, be told to leave at any moment should they screw up, but pledge week constituted the final series of tests for them to undergo before being fully sworn in. It was a make or break moment.

It meant a lot of walking on eggshells, especially for those whose entire university career rode on their admittance to the brotherhood. Then there were those who saw it as more of a joke than anything. Sure, the genuine pranksters were weeded out right off the bat, but there was always room for good humour. If a bona fide interest in the greek life shone through, even the most unserious of people could make it into the ranks.

Perhaps that was how Peter Parker got to be there, in the last remaining handful of potential pledges. When he’d first agreed to rush the frat, at the behest of his friend Flash, he’d never intended to last until midterms. It was only the second week of October, but his life had become routine already: class, lunch, more class, studying, eating, sleeping, and time had been allotted for his pledging when it was required, but he didn’t spend very much time at the manor. Unlike some of the others he’d met during the rush week and the pledging process, he didn’t have any lifelong desire to join a fraternity. It had been done on a whim to make a friend feel better. Said friend had already been removed from the lineup and there had been a couple of occasions he considered dropping out to show his solidarity, but he never really got around to it.

Part of the problem was one of his fellow pledges, Johnny Storm, was his roommate. To his surprise, they’d grown fairly close, They shared interests, stories, but most importantly a love of pranking and goofing off. He couldn’t imagine living with somebody else next semester, if Storm were to be selected and moving into the frat house. Flash Gordon had been a friend for longer, but he couldn’t imagine living with the guy.

It was because of Johnny Storm that Peter found himself in the frat house that Tuesday instead of studying for his literature midterm the next afternoon. “You need a break,” Johnny insisted, and forcibly pulled him from the room. “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.” 

He refused to share said idea for the entire duration of their walk across campus, through the blistering winds and the throngs of Starbucks-wielding students. “I could use a drink—” Peter suggested, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“It’s Monday. Most of the Brothers are in class, right? So let’s go wandering the rooms. Snoop out some dirt on everybody,” he announced finally, arriving to the front gate of the manor. It was massive, and took his breath away every time he saw it. So much nicer than the Gamma Gamma Epsilon house, the other frat Johnny had been courting. 

The whole thing seemed like a bad idea — probably because it _was_ a bad idea, but Peter lacked any sense of self-awareness to comment on just how stupid it was. If anything, it was a blessing in disguise: if they got caught sneaking around, at least they’d be thrown out together. It was a win-win situation, really. Either way, he’d keep his roommate. “Okay,” he agreed without much protest, kicking off his shoes at the front door and following Johnny, sock-footed, through the foyer. 

There were voices in the house, but not as many as usual. On any given night, twenty distinct voices could be heard from every corner of the manor, despite its size. Peter estimated there were maybe three brothers currently lurking about — and for all he knew, they weren’t even brothers. He’d met the other pledges a handful of times, and as the numbers got smaller, they’d become something of a tiny, interconnected family of weirdos trying to impress a bunch of college students with their bro-ness and douchebaggery. 

The two kept quiet as they slipped from into the hallway leading to the stairwell. Most of the bedrooms were upstairs or in the basement, and the handful of rooms on the ground floor were usually reserved for pledges. They afforded little privacy, little soundproofing, and were most often used as passageways from one corridor to another. Everybody had their own means of traversing the labyrinthine halls of the Avengers Mansion, and if that meant bursting drunkenly through your room at four in the morning, so be it.

Stairs creaked beneath them despite their best efforts to be incognito. Fortunately, just walking downstairs was nothing out of the ordinary or particularly worrisome — it was just everything that followed that would get them into trouble with the brothers. Peter tried to put the thoughts of his mind, trailing a good five steps behind Johnny, who already had one ear to a door by the time Pete had reached the bottom step.

“This one’s empty,” he mouthed, not daring to speak in case somebody overheard them. Peter nodded swiftly, and once he had confirmation to proceed, John opened the door, moving as stealthily as possible. He opened it just enough to slip through and, Peter, the slenderer of the pair, followed suit. They pressed the door closed behind them, flicking on the light and glancing around at the empty den.

Neither could guess who the roomed belong to, but it was twice as big as the pledge holding rooms upstairs, and five times as messy. They had to tread carefully further in, trying not to touch, upset, or disturb anything from its proper place. The bed was, surprisingly, well-made, but clearly had been recently slept in. “Over here,” Johnny hissed, trying to keep his voice low, and Peter stepped over some stray pants to approach the dresser his roommate was standing at.

He opened the top drawer without any remorse, rummaging through it but finding nothing — at least, nothing he brought to light. After a thorough searching, he closed it up and shrugged, as if he was looking for something in particular, and took Peter by the wrist to drag him towards the door.

His process continued for a few rooms onward. He’d listen at the door, they would sneak in, and they would just look in a handful of places until Johnny was satisfied with their search.

Though they found a couple of porn rags — both gay and straight — a few stashed bottles of vodka, a box of weed that tempted the both of them, and what looked like a dead body wrapped in a bundle of coats, nothing seemed to stop them from the pace they had going. Johnny was either looking for something very specific or nothing at all, Peter didn’t bother asking. He was just bemused by some of the things people chose to keep in their bedrooms. A mouldy box of pizza, really? Had they never heard of recycling? 

They’d just about reached the end of the hallway before encountering their first person. Music had been faintly playing in the background of their adventure, and finally they had stumbled upon the source. Johnny lingered at the door for a second before moving on, and together they entered the room across from it. The sound was drowned out by the door closing behind them — it was actually surprising how well the bedrooms were soundproofed, though Peter chalked that up to necessity rather than happenstance. “Was he listening to Hoobastank?” Johnny murmured, leaning in close and holding back a laugh as they glanced up from the door.

If the first room they had ventured into had been messy, this one was a veritable wasteland. The blankets dangled off the bed into a heap on the floor, though it was nothing compared to the literal mountain of dirty clothing piled into one corner of the room. Even still, clothes were strewn everywhere, no spot of floor uncovered. The walls were loaded with posters from movies, TV shows, and musicians from the early 90s grunge scene. The light was nearly burnt out, leaving the room rather dark even when they turned it on. It glowed with a faint, brown-orange light, and Peter was thankful it was still fairly bright out, so some natural, not-terrifying light could seep in through the drawn blinds.

As always, John cut through the mounds of crap, though there was evidently no dresser in the room for him to browse through. He approached the nightstand next to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress as he opened the top drawer, smirking. 

Peter turned away to examine the posters on the wall, trying to get a sense of whose room they were in. It was all pretty generic stuff — Reservoir Dogs, Firefly, Nirvana — and betrayed very little in terms of personal touches.

Crossing the floor, he approached Johnny near the bed, who seemed to be having a field day. There was a devilish grin on his face as he pulled something out: a crumpled pair of off-white briefs. He unfurled them and stretched out the elastic, and only then did Peter realize what they were. “Cum rag?” he mouthed, a horrified look on his face.

Johnny could barely contain his laughter, falling back on the back and having to cover his mouth so as to not make themselves known. The cum rag went with him, rested on his stomach as if there was nothing wrong with it. They caught the light, and with them, the yellowish tint of stale, dried cum shone with it. “That’s disgusting. Who would _keep_ something like that?”

“Like you’re any better,” Johnny murmured. “You really need to start _flushing_ your kleenex, dude.”

Sheepishly, Peter turned his head away to avoid making it known he was turning red. As he turned back, Johnny was standing up, sticking the tighty whities into the pocket of his jeans. It bulged out significantly, but he didn’t seem to mind. Peter could smell it now — a strange, ethereal smell, almost like nutmeg. He hated the smell of nutmeg.

“Alright, let’s get out of here—” They had just started walking to the door when the world’s largest fuck you appeared in the doorway. It swung open quickly, with purpose, as if the person coming in owned the room or something. And he sure as hell wasn’t expecting company.

“Yeah, yeah—I’ll have it all done for Friday, bro, don’t fucking worry.” The brother’s head was down, talking on the phone. Johnny and Peter froze, nowhere to turn and nowhere to go, just waiting for him to look up. And look up he did. Rather than shout, or holler, or pull out a knife, the blond brother simply gave them both a quizzical expression. “Gonna have to call you back, Katie. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I know. No. Okay. See ya.”

 _Click_.

It was the longest three seconds of Peter’s life.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked. 

By now, both of them had recognized the brother as Clint Barton. If Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were the alpha males of the fraternity, Clint sat somewhere in the beta ranks of the totem pole. He wasn’t exactly star material, but what he did, he did well. He was a ladies’ man, a flirt and playboy, a schmoozer like no other, and terrifyingly accurate with a bow-and-arrow. There were rumours going around that once he shot a guy in the forehead for talking to his then-girlfriend. Just rumours, though.

Neither could answer him and he didn’t exactly press them to speak. He kept the same confused look on his face, eying them up and down. “What’s that in your pocket?” he asked Johnny, noticing the rather visible lump and the square of white fabric bulging from his jeans.

“Uh—” Johnny began, face flushed red with embarrassment, and instead of answering, simply pulled out the pair of underwear.

“Oh,” Clint said, tilting his head. He made eye contact with Peter. “You’re a pledge, right? That Parker kid?” Pete nodded. “Both of you?” Johnny nodded then as well. _Not for long, though_ , the guilt on his face seemed to read. This was definitely not part of the master plan. “Were you gonna steal my cum rag? Really?”

“It was… for a prank?” 

Clint Barton pursed his lips at Johnny Storm while Peter Parker looked on in embarrassment. Three men, always ready with a quip and a joke, all lost for words in what was easily the single most odd, embarrassing moment any of them had ever experienced up until then. “One sec,” Clint said finally, turning and leaning against the door, effectively barring their exits. 

Phone still clasped in his hand, he shuffled through a series of names in his address until he found the one he wanted. He gestured at Peter and Johnny to sit on his bed, an offer neither of them accepted, pressing the phone to his ear and waiting for it to pick up. “Oh! Hey. ‘Sup. Yeah. It’s Hawkeye.” He glanced over at the two interlopers, offering them a stern smile. “So, funny story, here I am coming home from class hoping to get some sleep, and I stumble on a couple—no, not prostitutes, jesus—no, get this, a couple pledges broke into my room.” He paused to laugh. “Right? Crazy. I remember when I pledged, all we did was put Oreos in people’s drinks so they were too grossed out to finish them and I finished ‘em off. Yeah. Right? Simpler times.” He paused, sighing nostalgically. “Anyway. I hate to do this, man, but rules are rules, right?”

Peter gulped, glancing over at his roommate.

“Yeah. I know. We’re, like, a month ahead of schedule. Can you let the rest of the brothers know? No—nothing yet. Wanted to call you first. Yeah, okay. I’ll make it official. Alright, man. Yeah. They’re gonna be pretty bummed, y’know? Talk to you later. Peace, bro.” 

Another click, and Clint leveraged himself off of the door, turning back to face the two pledges in full view. “Alright, boys,” he said, sounding far less awkward and a touch more confident now, as if he had to project a more professional outlook to plot their demise. “That was Brother Iron Man. You met him before? Cool dude. We call him Iron Man ‘cause his dick’s got a metal rod in it. That’s not the point. He told me what I figured he would, so now we’ve got to do something about this… thing.” He gestured his fingers around the room.

Peter spoke up. “We can go. Sorry for—yeah. Just sorry in general. This was stupid.”

“Stupid?” Clint answered, smirking. “Nah, bro. It was bad ass. Sneaking into a brother’s room? Okay, yeah, stupid. But ballsy. I like it. But rules are rules, right?” He looked between them, and Johnny dropped the rag on the ground, starting to head towards the door. Clint caught him by the arm, holding him in place. “You boys have some explaining to do to your fellow pledges, because pledge week is officially on. Midterms are just starting, pledges, but for Alpha Sigma Psi, final examinations are underway. And this is your final test.”

Johnny glanced up. “We’re not kicked out?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Clint smirked. “You could be. I’m in charge of your final test, since I’m here right now.” He shrugged. “And I’m a bit of a dick. So maybe I’ll fail you. Maybe I’ll pass you. Who knows? I sure don’t. Depends on how good you do at following orders.”

Johnny looked over his shoulder at Peter, who seemed physically incapable of believing what was being said, but he edged closer. Clint let go of Johnny, letting him stumble back. “Alright, let’s get this preamble out of the way. Starting right now, until I deem the pledge complete, you are to follow any and all orders I give you. My name is Brother Hawkeye and I will be your tour guide this evening. Failure to comply to my orders will result in immediate disqualification from the pledge — you’ll be allowed to leave, no fuss, no muss. You do as I tell you, and you’re in. Full time big leagues. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, almost too quickly.

“…Anything?” Peter asked.

“Anything.”

He hesitated. “Alright. As long as we’re allowed to leave if we don’t.”

“Of course,” he said with a stupid grin. “What kind of jerk do I look like? I’m not _Logan_. Last pledge he claimed left with a sword wound in the gut. Spent a month in the hospital.” Clint turned back to lock the door to his room — the first sign the night was going to be a trying one — and stepped further in, kicking aside some of the mess of clothing to clear a space for them to stand without slipping. “Alright, I’m gonna need a chair.”

He brushed past the two of them, grabbing the wooden desk chair that had been hidden by a backpack and secondary pile of clothes. He brushed it off and set it in the clearing he had made, then made eye contact with Johnny. “Alright, you. Sit.” He turned away before seeing if his order was actually completed, moving to the far wall and opening the closet door a sliver. He reached in, arm coming back out a moment later with a small grocery bag, returning to the pair. “You can sit on the bed for now,” he offered to Peter, who obliged and watched as Johnny squirmed uncomfortably in the seat.

“Hands behind the chair, pledge.” Again, Johnny did as asked, and Clint pulled out a hempen rope from the bag, letting the remaining contents fall to the ground with a quiet clatter. Johnny’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist as he was secured to the wood. Peter tilted his head nervously. Clint had the faintest of smiles on his face. “I’m sure you both know what our deal is here, right? That we all have a crazy amount of sex? Well—it only makes sense that’s the final exam.” He turned to face them both. “All pledges need to have sex with a brother. Or two. Or all of them. Depends on how hot they are.” He paused, as if expecting some protest, but neither did. “Now, you lucked out because I don’t _share_ my pledges. You’re mine until you quit or I say I’m done with you. If I was somebody else, I’d be mass dialing everybody telling them to get their asses home from class early so they could get a piece of you. But that’s not my style. We’re gonna have a bit of fun, the three of us.”

Bending down, Clint grabbed the drop pair of briefs that Johnny had swiped, stepping forward. “Safe word is ‘potpourri’,” he explained with a smile, stretching out the elastic and pulling the underwear over his head, tugging it down to completely cover his face. “Parker, you can start taking your clothes off. Let me see what I’m working with, here.” Peter got up just as Clint got to his knees before Johnny, starting to undo his pants. It was a tight squeeze, trying to pull off the jeans while he was secured to the chair, but the brother didn’t seem too bothered about whether it hurt or not—he just wanted the clothes off.

Peter had never seen his roommate naked before, and was impressed by what he saw before him. As he pulled off his own shirt, he felt ugly and scrawny, and was hesitant to remove his pants. He considered leaving, then, turning back and never breathing a word of it to anybody, but — Johnny didn’t seem perturbed. At least, it was difficult to tell, being unable to see his face and all. Closing his eyes, Peter let out a breath and dropped his pants to the ground. 

No turning back now.

By the time Clint had pulled off his shirt, and soon after stripped naked without any reservation, Johnny was the most dressed person in the room, with his shirt still attached and a pair of briefs covering his head. Despite that, he was pressed stiff against his stomach, his throbbing cock begging to be touched, but unable to do so. Peter was grateful, then, that he could at least give himself a few tentative strokes in preparation. 

“Parker,” Clint said, gesturing for him to come closer. Sheepishly, he did as commanded, but was quickly pushed away by the Brother, nearly falling onto Johnny. “Give your boy a lap dance. Try and get him all hot and bothered. I want you riding up on his cock, jerking him off — but don’t let him cum.” He leaned in, pressing his mouth to where Johnny’s ear should have been. “If you cum, you blow your load all over _both_ of your shots at getting into this fraternity, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Clint said forcefully, ripping off the pair of briefs and tossing them aside. Johnny gasped for fresh air as his head was pulled back, Clint gripping tightly to hair mane of blond hair. “Let’s go, Parker. Make him wet.”

Sexy wasn’t exactly Peter Parker’s strong suit. Sex, sure — he could do _the sex_ , but he couldn’t be sexy while doing it. He especially couldn’t be sexy with an exhibitionist breathing over his shoulder. With some gangly hesitation, he perched himself on Johnny’s lap, both of them struggling to hold back a chuckle. John bit down on his bottom lip, squinting his eyes and offering a nod. With the silent permission, Peter placed his hand around Johnny’s warm member, a shaky breath clearing his throat.

Without thinking, both of their faces moved in and connected in a kiss, a move that made Johnny squirm in place, trying to hold their faces together and keep it going. Peter made sure to keep his movements slow and easy, and hesitated each time he felt a twitch or a pulse, but was careful to never fully stop. He could feel Clint’s watchful eye next to them, even if he had lost himself in the kiss.

Footsteps creaked on the wooden floorboard around them, and Pete broke off, expecting somebody to barge in and start watching, but it was just Clint crossing towards the pile of clothes, returning a minute later with a jock strap clutched in his hand. He pulled the two apart, firmly gripping Johnny’s chin and turning it up. “I’m still kind of reeling that you’d try to steal my rag, bro. What were you gonna do with it? Use it for yourself?”

“I was _going_ to…” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to actively stop himself as Peter continued his slow massaging. “…Nail it to the front door. After we got pledged. As a joke.”

“So in, like, a month and a half? You were just gonna hold it until then?” When Johnny didn’t reply, Clint laughed. “You’re sick. I love it. Here—you can have this. Haven’t washed it since homecoming, wear it every time I go to the gym. And that’s a lot.” He pressed it forward into his face, right up against Johnny’s nose, and held it there. With the back straps, he tightly fastened it around his head like a surgical mask, grinning as he saw Johnny’s reaction to the musk. “You like that, you little perv-guy?”

“…Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, remember — if you cum, both you and Parker-boy here get your pink slips,” he reminded him. “And Parker, if you think for a second I don’t see what you’re doing, you’re crazy. I told you to make him wet. Right now you’re just making him… kinda damp.” 

Peter gave his roommate a pained, apologetic expression and flexed his fingers around the shaft, starting to stroke a little harder. He could hear muffled breaths struggling behind the jock-gag, eyes rolling back into his head. The shaft tensed in his hand, but Johnny was actively trying to hold himself back. 

Clint rounded the naked bodies on the chair, positioning himself firmly behind Peter’s back, pressing himself against them. His toned arms wrapped around the pledge’s shoulders, reaching down to squeeze his cock, starting to stroke it. Peter bit down on his lip, trying to ignore it. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cum or not, and he didn’t want to risk it, but it felt so _good_ — this whole thing excited him. The brother’s arms quit holding him, though one hand continued to stroke the shaft. The other was placed against the curve of his ass, squeezing the fleshy cheeks. His middle finger slipped into the crack and pressed into Peter’s hole, an unseemly whimper escaping his lips. “Don’t worry,” Clint offered, “ _you’re_ allowed to cum. In fact, I’m expecting you to blow your load all over your friend’s face. And you’d better not miss a single drop.”

One finger turned into two, and Peter’s back arched out, losing his momentum and rhythm on Johnny’s cock, who seemed relieved for the break. Clint continued to finger fuck the pledge on the chair, digging himself right down to the knuckle, twisting the two digits around. Once contented with his work, he pulled out, and Peter let out a moan, thinking it was over, but it had only just begun. Clint shifted himself, shimmying into a crouch, and Peter soon felt the tip of his cock pressing bare against his ass. He lurched back as it started pressing into him, no lubrication, no warning, no stopping until it reached the root. Clint grunted as he pushed in, holding himself steady on the back on the chair, using Johnny’s arms for support. With athletic precision, he started squatting up and down, pumping in and out of the pledge’s ass. Peter wanted to move, to go lie down to make things easier for them, but he couldn’t go anywhere, he was stuck, his hand slipping on Johnny’s cock as they both tried to make sure he didn’t relieve himself. 

Peter’s focus had been shifted to himself, the sensation filling him from behind, breaths heavily. Clint released one of Johnny’s arms and once again took hold of Peter’s cock, stabilizing himself so low to the ground and continuing his pumps, matching his hand movements in time. After a second, he gave up, released him. His hands then switched gears and moved towards Johnny’s, feeling around for it, and nudging Pete’s hands off of it. “Switch sides. Parker, you focus on yourself. I’ll make sure perv-guy here has a hell of a time getting in. As for you—you need to cum before I do, _and_ you gotta do it on this guy’s face. Good luck getting up to do it. We clear?”

Muffled moans were all he got. 

Clint didn’t hold back stroking Johnny’s cock, going right in for the kill, pumping hard and fast, matching Peter’s own movements on himself. Something told him Clint wasn’t going to wait around and draw this out. This was more than just a ‘fuck me and you’re in’ sort of pledge, admittedly something they were both expecting. Alpha Sigma Psi had a _reputation_. This was more of a real test, though.

The trouble was finding a way to stand up with a cock rammed in his ass. He didn’t have much time to think about it, as already he could feel Clint’s fluid movements started to jar, and he was going harder and faster, pounding him against his cheeks, trying to make himself finish as quickly as he was trying to make Johnny. Pete was working at triple, quadruple capacity, and as soon as he felt the first stir of pleasure, he panicked. 

He stood himself up, ripping himself off of Clint, the side effect being him stumbling forward. He fell into Johnny, and the chair went tumbling back, smashing against the ground. Johnny grunted at the impact, slightly cushioned by some stray clothing, but all of that was negated by Peter falling into him, upturned by Johnny’s legs, kneeing him in the stomach as he righted himself. “So sorry,” he murmured to his friend as he crawled forward, dick hovering mere inches from his roommate’s face, and he started stroking. Clint came around, having fallen back, to watch, stroking himself and leaning forward to continue stroking Johnny.

It only took a few quick pumps for Peter to come. It shot forth, just a few inches from Johnny’s face, blasting onto his face, getting everywhere. Most of the blow was focused on the jock strap, but he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut as the warm liquid caught him in the bright of the nose, the cheeks, and the forehead. 

Clint let out a whooping laugh and clapped his hands. “Nicely done, boys,” he offered, watching the two frosh staring at one another, after Peter had wiped the cum out of Johnny’s eyes, a faint smile on his face.

“I think we’re in,” Pete said.

“I never said that.” 

He turned his head to the brother, looking concerned. Something told Peter that Johnny couldn’t move, because he just stared forward. 

“Yeah,” Clint continued. “I mean, you both did good. Especially you, Parker. But I’m still kinda peeved you guys broke into my room. Did you go into anybody else’s, or did you just choose mine at random?”

Peter hesitated, but answered. “We went in all of them.”

For whatever reason, that only made Clint smile wider. “Good to know, boys. Get up.” It took several minutes for them to fully right themselves. Peter struggled to stand, his ass pounding leaving him sore and weak in the knees, and it took both Clint and Peter together to right Johnny’s chair, though the brother made no effort to untie him, nor clean him off any more than Peter had done — the trails of sperm on his face had started streaking down and staining his chest and stomach. 

“Pledge Parker. You did good,” Clint said, smirking. “Did everything I asked of you, you’ve got a nice ass, and you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Saying that only made him more flustered. “Pledge Perve-guy, you had one job. You did it. Gonna be honest, I kind of wanted to see you fail. But you didn’t. You passed.”

Peter grinned.

“ _But_ ,” came the first words that crushed every hope he had. “You both broke into my room. And I’m the sort of dude that holds a forever-sort of grudge. Parker!” Peter straightened up at the volume. “One of the other Brothers expressed interest in you. I’m going to let him make the final decision. Daredevil lives up to his nickname. If you think this was kinky in any way, you’re in for a rude awakening.” He smirked, and Peter nodded, bowing his head.

“As for you,” Clint continued, stepping towards Johnny, whose eyes were locked on Clint. The brother reached down, taking something from the grocery bag he’d supplied earlier. It was a metallic box, fastened with some leather straps. “You wanted my cum rag. So now you get to be the cum rag. For the next… seven days, you’re going to be strapped to this chair, and we’re going to leave you in the living room, and your future brothers can do what they want to you.” He smirked. “Every brother is going to take their turn using you as a kleenex, and you’re going to let it get all over your face. And this? This is going to make sure you don’t get to share in any of the fun.”

He unscrewed one side of the box, and the end fell off, and Pete realized it was some sort of chastity guard. Clint moved forward, sliding it over the hard cock, which barely fit into the contraption, and cinched it around the pledge’s waist. “Like I said, safe word is potpourri. You want out, you’re allowed out. But then you lose your pledge. For Parker, too. His fate is in your hands, perv-guy. Think you can handle that?”

Johnny nodded. 

“What’s your name?” Clint asked.

“Johnny Storm,” he said, voice muffled by the soaked jock covering his mouth.

Clint laughed. “That’s a stupid name. I like pervy-guy better.” He paused for a minute. “Oh, right, I’ll make sure somebody feeds you three square meals a day. A lot of that might be sausage, though. And—if you need to piss…” He tilted his head back and forth, thinking. “Yeah. If you gotta piss, somebody’ll carry you to the bathroom. But it’s not gonna be me.”

The brother nodded at his handiwork, surveying the two. “Now that that’s settled, let’s add to Parker’s collection.” 

He stepped forward, chest puffed out with pride, standing in front of Johnny Storm. Peter watched from the side as Clint started pleasuring himself, making quick work of it. His legs buckled slightly, and he bit down on his lower lip. It looked like he was about to climax when he stopped, grinning. “You want to know why they call me Brother Hawkeye?” he asked, taking a slight step back. He resumed stroking himself, tilting the shaft upwards. When he shot, three smooth ropes connected in the centre of Johnny’s face, right at the bridge of his nose. “I never miss my target.”

Clint spent a few moments to catch his breath, reaching down to grab the underwear he’d discarded, slipping it on. “Parker, keep your clothes off—” he ordered, reminding him he was still a pledge. “Help me carry pervy-guy up the stairs. It’s Pledge Week, you guys are all on house arrest except for classes.” He side-eyed Johnny. “Except you. You’re not going to class this week. Sorry.”

Johnny didn’t say anything, he just stared forward as his roommate and the frat brother hoisted his chair up and started towards the stairs, naked from the waist down, his button-down shirt covered in dregs of semen. Peter was buck-naked, face flushed as red as his ass cheeks were, and Clint had on just a pair of ill-fitting boxer shorts.

Pervy-guy had no intentions of giving up. He was one foot in the door already. If all he had to do was live out some guy’s bukkake fantasy to secure a spot in the most prestigious club in school — especially if quitting meant Peter would lose his shot, too — he’d do it without hesitation.

“Oh, one last thing,” Clint said as they dropped him on the floor of the empty living room. He turned around and propped up Johnny’s chin, trying to avoid the smears of cum on him. “I catch you snooping around people’s rooms again, your ass is mine. And I mean that _so_ literally.”


	3. Pledge Week: Day Two

“Beer me.” 

There was a pause, followed closely by a sigh, and then the slightest shift on the couch as the pledge got up from his seat to walk towards one of the many beer fridges scattered through the Alpha Sigma Psi fraternity house. 

Harry Cleese watched with interest at the short, scrawny kid bent over, jeans pulling tight over his ass, shaping and moulding it, a grin on his face. Amadeus Cho had become something of his pet project since the initial rush week. He was the exact opposite of what most people expected from a member of the frat — he was small, quiet, reserved, and an intellectual prodigy with a genius level IQ, a complete lack of adequate social skills, and to top it all off he was barely eighteen — but that’s what Herc liked about him.

In short, he needed a tutor. And he needed one big time. 

A certain level of comfort was deigned to the members of the frat, heavily supported by donations given in the name of all the members, and despite being an Olympic class athlete attending Empire State on full scholarship, earning a bullshit degree in some liberal arts program that, according to most of his instructors, needed no more intelligence than a fifth-grade education to complete, he was failing. 

Sure, there were smart people in the house. Tony Stark was a genius in his own right, Murdock was an up-and-coming hotshot lawyer with connections all over the place, and Banner could show up any one of his professors if he bothered to apply himself, but Harry didn’t want to rely on his existing brothers. He wanted to mould a new generation of nerds to address his jock-level IQ. 

He had been the sole reason Amadeus had made it so far into the pledge process. Most of the brothers didn’t like him: they felt he was stuffy, that he belittled them, and most importantly, he didn’t seem all that interested in the lifestyle. His father was a graduated Alpha Sigma Psi, from another branch from another school, and he didn’t really question what went down in the Avengers Manor. He knew its reputation to be a spotless one, and insisted his son be shown the ropes, even if it was a fruitless attempt. The added money into the funds were nice, but Tony had most of that covered. Money or not, Amadeus Cho wasn’t frat boy material. But as soon as Harry had met him, and spend just a couple minutes picking his brain and sitting next to him in the introductory literature class he’d already twice failed, he realized he had in his presence a ticket to the big-leagues.

Harry hired the kid on as his tutor — though, ‘hired’ probably wasn’t the right word for it. He was a pledge and, despite his disinterest in the whole process, Amadeus had to do as he was told. Eager to please his father and to prove himself as a son, the pledge took on his duties with a forced, strained smile, but already there had been some modest improvement. 

“You’re not stupid,” Cho had told him, a reassuring smile on his face, a soft, tiny hand pressed against his shoulder. “You just need to focus.”

Now it was pledge week: the final test of admissions into the frat. If he failed, then all of it would have been for nothing, he’d no longer have a tutor and he’d be forced to turn the kid away from the front doors. Harry wanted to imagine they were maybe, somehow, friends, but they didn’t run in the same circles. If he didn’t get into the frat, they’d probably only talk intermittently, and he’d have to get Banner to do his homework for him. Nobody wanted that. Banner always say ‘yes’ when prompted to do other people’s work, but it all bubbled beneath the surface, and everybody knew he had a breaking point, and when he reached it? Well, look out.

Amadeus turned back from the beer fridge, tossing the can across the room to his tutee. “You’re going to be too drunk to write the essay, Harry.”

“ _Brother_ _Hercules_ ,” he corrected. “Sorry, kid. Pledge week. Need to keep up appearances.”

“Right,” Cho answered, stifling a laugh. “Why do they call you Hercules, exactly? You’re not Greek, are you?”

Harry furrowed his brow, glancing over. “You’ve seen me naked. I’m _built_ like a Greek God.” 

The laugh broke free, and the modest pledge covered his mouth with his hand, looking away apologetically. It was true. Everybody had seen Herc naked. Any time there was alcohol involved, his clothes came off first. The very first rush party of the year, he had burst down from his bedroom in nothing but a toga, which was promptly pulled off by Ben Grimm. 

“Dude, stop laughing,” he said, punching Cho in the shoulder. It was playful, but still powerful. The pledge recoiled to nurse his arm, inching away on the sofa. “You know it’s true. I seen how you look at me. You like what you saw.” Immediately he turned red, forcing him to cover even more of his lower face with his hand, turning away. It was a stark contrast against his pale complexion. Harry noticed the blush and continued the teasing. “C’mon and admit it, I’m sexy as fuck.” 

He reached out, hand grazing over Cho’s waist, squeezing sharply in the form of a kidney shot. The pledge panicked and drew himself back. “No! Stop—not funny. You’ve got an essay to write.” 

It was the most authoritative Harry had seen him in a month and a half. 

“Just trying to have some fun,” he whined, righting himself and looking back down at the table, covered in books, novels, and notepads from their tutoring session. They’d been more frequent lately, as Cho had been spending less time in his own dorm and more time at the house. More than anything, that had been Harry’s first hint the kid did have _some_ interest in being there. The kid tended to float around unnoticed, sitting in the background, usually following Harry from room to room. He was trying — that’s more than he could say for some of the others. He wasn’t necessarily good at it, but he was _trying_. “Besides, it’s ten after six.” He cracked open the can of beer, settling it in lap. “We finished half an hour ago. You just haven’t left.”

Cho glanced over, still feeling and looking red in the face. “It’s not like I could leave either way. We’re on lockdown. Do you want me to leave?” he asked, concluding on a low note, almost trailing off into silence. “…Because I can go.”

It made Harry smile. “Nah, kid. I want you to stick around, actually. It’s pledge week, right? So I gotta be honest with you. Some of the other brothers don’t think you’re cut out for living here with us.” Sadness registered on both of their faces, though it was far more visible on Amadeus’. “Not _all_ of them. Just some. And they’ve been talking about swooping in and making you pledge for them. Pretty sure they’d make it hard for you to get in. I don’t want that.”

He reached an arm up, squeezing his thighs together to hold the beer can steady in place, scratching the ginger-brown beard he sported during the football season, starting to grow in rather nicely. “So I was thinkin’ I’d be the one to pledge you.”

There was a flash of relief and excitement in Amadeus’ eyes, but he turned them away quickly before Harry could read the signals. He pulled his hands up, setting them on his thighs, not quite able to look Herc in the eyes, but he was striving to make an effort, settling his gaze just off-centre, resting on one of his cheekbones.

“What do you think?”

“…If you want to?” 

“Yeah, I do. Just one thing I need to ask first.”

“Hm?” Cho flicked his eyes over, both of them making eye contact for a fleeting moment.

“Do you trust me?”

Was that a trick question? “…Yeah?” seemed like the only appropriate response, and was the one he finally settled on.

Harry reached into his lap, taking a long swig of beer, and setting the frosty can on the table next to one of his textbooks. He then leaned forward, firmly taking Amadeus by the wrist, and tugging him closer. He weighed a fraction of Herc’s strength, and it didn’t take much effort to pull the boy along the sofa. He stumbled forward slightly, gripping on the back of the couch, keeping his eyes locked on Harry’s. “Have you ever had sex before?”

Another trick question? Amadeus’ mouth hung open slightly, tongue running over his drying out lips. The answer was in his throat, but refused to come out, he just stared in mild confusion in Harry’s direction, whose hand was starting to cut off the circulation in his wrist. 

“Didn’t think so,” the brother said, nodding slowly. “Well, we’re gonna. You have sex with me, you’re in the club. You don’t, I’ll let you go.”

“My—my pledge is to have sex with you?” He sounded almost incredulous.

“Everyone’s is. It’s our thing.”

“Oh.” His mouth formed the letter longer than the word took to escape his lips. “That… doesn’t actually surprise me. Harry—” 

“Brother Hercules.”

“…Brother Hercules,” he correct himself, sighing. His hand went limp, and Harry released him, letting the pledge collapse slightly down on the couch, crumpling into an even smaller frame than usual. “I’m not ready. To do that.”

It was surprising how much Herc seemed affected by the words. He’d been expecting them, surely, but he knew that this was the best course of action he could have taken. Part of him knew all along Cho would never make it into the frat, but he’d really come to like the kid — like a little brother, in some sick, twisted metaphor where he’d just asked his little brother to have sex with him to protect him from some of the douchebags that inhabited the manor. “You’re allowed to leave,” he said with a soft smile. “Nobody’s judging you for saying no. Most of the guys usually drop when they find out what the pledge is.”

“You don’t understand,” Amadeus said, hazarding a quick glance up. “My father—he’s going to _kill_ me if I don’t make it in. I rushed every single fraternity here, this is the one he wanted me to be in, and you’re the only ones that didn’t laugh in my face and kick me out the door. I need to join. I just… I want him to be proud of me.”

There were tears. Red alert, red alert — danger, danger! Tears were starting to form in Amadeus’ eyes, and Harry had no idea what to do. He made the only logical move he could think, which involved leaning forward and scooping the boy into the tightest bear hug he’d ever produced, hoping to squeeze the saline liquid out of him. “C’mon, kid. Don’t cry. C’mon, you’re embarrassing me…”

“I can’t—” he sputtered out, and Harry looked around the deserted room, knowing full well that at any moment somebody could walk in. So he made the adult decision to hoist Cho up in his arms, still holding him close, and made the brief trek to his bedroom. 

He nudged the light on, though the room was still dark with the blinds closed, and moved towards the bed to set Cho down, giving him the privacy he needed to cry. He still didn’t know how to react to any of this: emotions were _not_ his strong suit, but he felt compelled to stay, to try and find a way to comfort the pledge, but all he ended up doing was sit there uncomfortably as Cho wiped his sleeves on his eyes, trying to get rid of the puffiness. 

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, after he had composed himself, coughing and sniffling. “That was… that was childish of me.”

“No,” Harry replied, knowing there was more he could say, but nothing immediately taking shape. “Your old man sounds like an asshole. Listen, this place isn’t for everybody. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready, alright? Nobody’s judging you if you walk out the front doors. You’re somethin’ special. I’d like to keep you around. Just wish there was something I could do.”

Amadeus narrowed his eyes, the start of a smile forming on his lips. “Th-thanks, Harry. You’re… you’re a good friend.”

“I make a better Brother,” he admitted, shrugging limply. 

“I just can’t…” He paused, shaking his head. “Do that. Not with… not knowing that some people here don’t want me here. I don’t feel comfortable.”

Herc pulled a frown, realizing it was his own fault for bringing that up in the first place. “No, kid, listen… yeah, we fool around a lot here. But once you get past the pledge, nobody can force you into anything. That’s why I wanted to be the one to do this for you. ‘Cause I’m not them. And I really want you to pass the pledge.” The frown turned into a lopsided smile, trying to be encouraging.

“Harry—” 

“It’s just sex.”

“It’s not just sex. It’s… my first time.”

“I lost mine to somebody who’s name I can’t even remember.”

“I like you, Harry.”

“I like you, too, kid.”

Cho exhaled through his nose. “No, I mean it. I… I _like_ you. Why else would I be here all the time? Why else would I care half as much as I do about getting in? Most of it’s my father, sure, but… the rest is you. I like you.”

His lips pursed. “ _Oh_ ,” he murmured, thinking for a moment. “I’m not…”

“No, I know. That’s why it’s so stupid. The stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I’m wasting my time, I’m… I should just go, shouldn’t I?” 

He shrugged. “That’s your choice. Offer still stands.”

Amadeus closed his eyes, back hunching over, shoulders shrugged. “I want to. I really, really do.” He reached out, placing a hand on Harry’s knee, squeezing weakly.

“Then let’s do it.” He leaned in eagerly, returning the hand on the leg. His lips connected with Cho’s, who struggled to return the kiss properly. It became clear he had no idea what he was doing, but Harry took the lead, pushing him back on the bed. Small hands pressed against his chest, trying to force him off. 

“Harry, stop—” 

“You want this, don’t you?”

“…Not like this.”

“Then how?”

He tried to push himself up, elbow digging into the bed. “You’re hurting me,” he said softly. Apologetically, Harry pulled himself up, narrowing his eyes slightly. “And I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I should go.” 

The pledge tried to climb off the bed, but Harry held him down. “No,” he urged. “You’re doing fine. Just kiss me again.” Their fingers knitted together, though Cho tried to release them, giving him an imploring look. “Seriously, you’re doing great. Please, just kiss me. I like hanging with you. You’re a cool kid.”

“We can still—” 

“That’s not gonna happen. We both know it. You walk out that door, you’re never gonna have the balls to talk to me again.” 

“That’s not true.”

“It’s true,” he said, a song sense of finality in his voice, bowing his head with a quiet sight. He raised one hand, stroking Cho’s neck. It was pimpled with goosebumps, and he heard a soft exhale. “Alright, you can go.”

There was a long silence. “I don’t want to.” 

The silence continued and Harry looked up, their lips meeting again, catching Harry off guard. It was sloppy, and uncoordinated, but he was trying. Careful not to lay all of his weight down on him, Harry pushed Cho back down on the bed, hands hastily moving to his shirt, starting to undo the buttons. A moan caught in-between their mouths, and he broke off, breathing heavily on the pledge’s cheek. “It’s gonna hurt. The first time, it hurts.”

“Promise to be gentle?”

“I promise,” he answered, sliding apart the two sides of Cho’s shirt. His body was skinny and lithe, the opposite of Harry’s build. His fingers trailed over the boy’s chest, pinching down on his nipples. The boy’s stomach caved in, an expression on his face mixed with pain and pleasure. He was trying to not hurt him, but he could only imagine how all of this felt — his first time, the body stimulated by every slight movement. 

He thought to ask if he was okay with everything, but grabby hands made light of his moral compass, hitching on the waist of Cho’s pants, undoing the button and sliding down the zip. They made eye contact briefly, and Amadeus made the slightest of nods, and he pulled down, exposing him entirely. Harry straightened himself off, and Amadeus followed suit, sitting up, trying to cross his legs in such a way to not feel quite so naked. He helped Harry in removing his shirt, the muscular body in staunch contrast to his own. Together, their hands slid down to his shorts, and with Harry’s hand clasped over his to egg him on, Amadeus slipped in through the elastic waist, hand brushing against skin. 

“Just like that,” Herc said, holding his breath as the tiny hands wrapped around the shaft. The pledge leaned forward, getting onto his knees, supporting himself with one hand leaning on Harry, the other starting to slowly massage his cock, a wholly new experience for him, one he didn’t think he’d be experiencing so abruptly, either.

Harry leaned back, propped up on one elbow to keep an eye on Amadeus’ facial reactions, to make sure he didn’t freak out too much. With more room to move, Amadeus got down on all fours again, weighted to one side to allow for him to jerk off the Brother. He stopped suddenly, and perked up, both hands moving to pull down the stretchy, soft fabric of the gym shorts. He got his first full look at Harry’s privates — the first time seeing him totally erect, and more or less sober, without him running right past shouting at Grimm for stealing his boxers. “You like?” he asked, the slightest of laughs. Amadeus only nodded in response, realizing he was big enough to necessitate both hands wrapped around it to stroke fully, and even then there were a couple of inches to spare on top of it. “It’s all yours. Until you’re ready for the main event.”

Assured that his pledge would find his comfort zone soon, Harry fell back fully, stretching his legs out and encircling Amadeus, locking him in place. The boy resumed working on stroking the shaft, hardly an expert, but he must have done some research, as he kept trying different things that caught Harry off guard. They weren’t the most painless, comfortable techniques, but they were different, and he had to give the kid kudos. 

It took him a solid three minutes to work up the courage to even think about putting his mouth over it, and even then it was a slow, drawn out process. Hands were removed from the shaft, and he leaned forward slightly, staring down at it, trying to rationalize it in his head. The delay spooked Harry, forcing him to lean back up to make sure everything was alright. “You ok?” he asked. 

Cho glanced up, nervous. “I’ve never…” 

He smiled from the corner of his mouth, pushing himself fully up until their bodies were just a few inches apart. His strong hands reached under Amadeus’ arms, plucking him off the bed and gently resting him down against one of the pillows, crawling forward. “Here. Let me tutor you.” He grinned, shooting the kid a wink, as he drew down the length of the boy’s body, one of his massive hands wrapping around his shaft. They didn’t quite fit together like lock and key, and he settled on just two fingers curled around the base, using it to pull it up slightly as he lowered his lips on it. 

Amadeus’ toes curled into the blankets at the slightest provocation, gasping loudly and holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut and Harry began working his cock. His tongue lapped and danced in ways the pledge didn’t think possible, taking care to explore every nook and cranny in the cragged flesh. He removed the fingers from the base to press himself down entirely, showing off his lack of a gag reflex by digging his face into the bush of pubes awaiting him. As he pulled off, he took the opportunity to take in Amadeus’ reaction: one of pure bliss and ecstasy, frozen in place, murmuring something under his breath with closed eyes. 

Seeing as how he was distracted, Harry took the next logical step. He shimmied down the bed, spreading the pledge’s legs apart, his hands settled on either of his ass cheeks, squeezing the firm mounds of muscle. He spread them apart, hands marking upon the flesh, a pinkish-red silhouette left behind on porcelain skin. He thought better of starting with a finger — something told him this was going to be the first time he’d had anything up there, experimental or not — and instead moved in with his mouth. His tongue pressed tentatively against the lower flesh, and he felt a shiver rush down the pledge’s spine, but no protest was voiced, so he carried on. It inched closer and closer towards the hairless pink hole, tightening and releasing in anticipation. “You need to relax it,” he spoke softly, speaking directly into the muscle, and he witness the loss of tension spreading through the body before him. “Good boy.” 

It hadn’t been his intention to teach nor coach — really, this was an unprecedented development. They’d had virgins before, sure, but most of them chickened out at the thought of a frat sex house. Cho was the first, to Harry’s knowledge, to stick around, and he didn’t bother denying that a large part of that was due to him. As he nudged his tongue inside of the virgin orifice, he reminded himself to be gentle. It was all about easing him into the lifestyle. 

“O-oh, god…” the boy moaned as the tongue penetrated fully, sticking out as far as it could go, lips grazing over the sensitive flesh. “H-Harry, I… _ohmigod._ ” 

He started exploring deeper, his hands no longer needed to hold the cheeks apart, his own jaw and cheekbones doing an adequate job of that. It allowed them to reach up the length of the boy’s body, holding him, almost comfortingly. Cho was gripping Harry’s hand with tense, white knuckles, trying to divert any of his stress there, instead of to his ass. 

Harry’s nose nuzzled deep against the skin, almost a secondary probe into the tight hole as he shifted from digging to stimulating, prodding in and out at a rapid pace, trying to excite the boy beneath him. 

“Please—please— _please,”_ Cho moaned, the final word coming out as nothing more than a frail whisper, crossed with a whimpered cry, and it was enough to make Harry stop and pull himself out, quickly leaning forward to brush the hair out of the pledge’s face, just to ensure he was okay. “Th-that feels… amazing.”

The compliment was duly accepted. “Just wait to you feel the real thing.” 

“C-can I?” he asked, almost pleaded.

Harry leaned down, breathing against Amadeus’ lips, kissing him briefly. “Are you sure you’re ready? If you can do this, you get your spot in the frat.”

“I want in,” he confirmed, nodding to second his statement. “I want to be a part of this. I want you to—I want you to make me a man.”

The Brother smirked. “You’re already more of a man than me.”

“Well—” Amadeus flushed red at the comment, trying to brush it off nonchalantly. “I want you to make it official.”

That could be arranged. With another soft smiled, Harry pulled himself up, climbing off the bed and heading to his dresser, where a plethora of lube bottles awaited, as well as a small bucket of condoms. He grabbed two, just in case, and one of the bottles, tossing them onto the bed next to them as he returned. 

“This is gonna hurt.”

“I know.”

“ _A lot_.” 

Amadeus nodded, and Harry grabbed for the lube, squirting some onto his hand. He reached down, using one hand to pull his legs back, though Amadeus did most of the work there, while the other spread some of the warming gel in his crack. One assured it was enough, he put some more onto his digits, and returned to the hole, wet from his tongue and from the lube, and carefully started to slide one finger in. 

The boy whimpered and panicked as it happened, but Harry was cautious and moved slowly, not wanting to scare him off. After the first few moments, he seemed to relax himself again, and Harry could push further in. Before long, he managed to secure a second finger into the mix, unfurling it against the hole and slowly sliding it in. He thrust and pumped his digits in, the fingers long enough for him to find the prostate, demonstrable by Amadeus’ reaction to one of the thrusts, a loud near-scream, caught in his throat and immediately regretted, but Harry had found it rather endearing. 

Only once he was convinced he’d done all he could do to prepare the pledge did Harry remove his fingers, leveraging himself forward onto his knees, knelt down deep against the bed to keep his waist at a low level. He reached for one of the condoms, starting to roll it on. “That was just the warm-up,” he said. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

There was some pause, but Cho nodded. “Positive.”

“Okay,” Herc replied, and he positioned one hand firmly around his member, aiming it true towards the eagerly awaited hole.

He hadn’t been expected quite that loud of a scream. He’d only inserted the tip, moving as slowly as he possibly could, but there must have been a hiccup, or Cho must have squeezed too hard, because more slipped in than he would have wanted. Herc knew better than to pull out at this point, and instead remained in place. “Are you okay?”

“F-fine,” Amadeus cried, tears forming in his eyes. By all logic Harry should have stopped there, but he didn’t. He wanted Cho to be a part of Alpha Sigma Psi. He could handle this. He had to. Slowly, after a brief respite, he started nudging his way in. His was not an easy cock to handle as a first, but he was doing everything possible to ensure it was an easy ride for both of them. 

There was more hesitation and restriction the deeper he got, but Cho’s breathing started overpowering his system, and it managed to relax him, at least physically, he couldn’t speak for the pledge’s mental state. “Almost there,” he coached, reaching what he considered to be the practical end of his shaft, the point where anything else would have been painful overkill. “Still with me?”

“Affirmative.”

When he reached the point, he came to a dead stop. “Keep it relaxed,” he reminded, both of his hands secured around the boy’s waist, squeezing delicately to show his solidarity. The muscles loosened around his shaft, and he began the process of pulling out, stopping just shy before pressing back in. He only thrusted once, wanting to see if Cho was okay — beyond a loud moan, there were no complaints, so he tried it a second time. And then a third. And a fourth.

And by then he’d found a rhythm. A slower one than he was used to, but this was a hole tighter than any he’d been in, and owned by a person he genuinely liked spending time with. It was entirely different than any fuck he’d ever had, and he was grateful for it. 

For his part, Cho was a trooper. Once the stage had been set, there were a few slips, and as the seconds wore on, Harry started to slip further and further in. Amadeus would remark upon it with the slightest of ‘ow’s’, but he never once asked him to stop. If anything, he encouraged it to go forward. His moans were motivation enough to do well, so innocent and fresh, it was almost corrupting to be sharing this moment, but it was one Harry enjoyed. 

“You’re in,” he remarked at one point, breaking a silence that had been rife with grunts of pleasure from both sides. “Officially. The first pledge to pass the test.” He grinned, leaning forward and kissing the pledge — _former_ pledge — hard on the lips. “Couldn’t be more proud of you, Brother. We’re gonna have to brainstorm a nickname for you.”

No words could fully formulate in Amadeus’ throat, so he simply smiled his thanks, returning the kiss with inexperienced gusto before having to roll his head to the side and bite down on his lip to stop from screaming. Now that he’d been eased in, Harry found it easier to speed up his tempo. Not dangerously so, just enough to increased his own enjoyment on top of Amadeus’. He found himself drawing closer and closer to climax, and he shifted his attention to the narrow, throbbing cock of his bottom. He started stroking it in time to his thrusts, assuming they would share the same release cycle. 

Once he felt he was close enough to finish, Harry pulled himself out, condom and all, and ripped it off. Amadeus hesitated for a moment, wanting to protest, but Harry didn’t force himself back in bare — instead, he started stroking his cock along with Cho’s, both of them aimed up the pledge’s body. 

Amadeus came first, shooting a load up his stomach, exhaling sharply as he did so. Harry let go of him and focused on himself, his newly freed hand trailing up the boy’s body, collecting some of the sticky substance, pooling it on his finger. When he came a moment later, his own mixing with that of Cho’s, he repeated the process, mingling the two together on his fore and middle fingers. “Open up,” he ordered, and Amadeus opened his mouth without question. 

Harry stuck both fingers into the boy’s mouth, letting him suck them clean. He came in for a kiss before the pledge could swallow the concoction, forcing his tongue into Amadeus’ mouth, mixing salivas and sperms, aroused further by the taste. He fell forward, landing on the bed next to Amadeus’ cum-streaked body, his arm slung over the boy’s stomach. He turned his head, smirking at his conquest. “Welcome to Alpha Sigma Psi, Brother. Can’t wait to spend more time with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Hope you enjoy this instalment -- it took longer to write than I would have liked, but I was having some difficulty actualizing the scene in words. The next chapter is going to be yet another Pledge Week encounter: this time, it's Steve Rogers' turn to welcome Bucky Barnes to the party. ]


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